Days 189 to 197 - THE END. Bangkok to Britain.

It seemed a strangely familiar being back in Bangkok and with no real exploring left to do, we returned to the familiar Rambutri and Khao San Road area of Bangkok. Our only task to buy presents for loved ones back home. Baggage weight being an ongoing issue we decided to buy things in Bangkok instead of carting them around for our journey. We had an idea of going to a ping pong club but with the journey coming to an end it seemed less relevant. In any case we had to be up early the following day as we had a 10am flight back to Heathrow.

The flight on Emirates was perfect as always and I think if you can pay a little more, this is the way to start and finish travel to Asia from the UK. Also the 10th October is our anniversary. We completed 3 years of a very interesting, rewarding and exciting marriage. If our marriage has a title, it is 'travel'. We met in New York 5 years ago and for the first 18 months we were hopping the Atlantic and generally on holiday. As soon as Sarah was legal in the UK and could leave the country and be guaranteed to get back in we were straight across the English Channel to Greece, France, Holland, Belgium. Our life has been on holiday or planning them. Soon this will change drastically.

We arrived in Heathrow at 7pm on 10th, but the journey wasn't quite over. We organised a mini break in South west England, to cover the time up until Sarahs flight to the USA on the 17th October. We didn't have to go far on the first night, as we booked a hostel in Hounslow, near Heathrow airport. Hounslow is a very Indian place. It seems when the Indian immigration peaked in the 1970s from Kenya and Uganda, the new immigrants arrival coincided with the growth of Europes biggest airport (I won't fact-check that). They looked for work at the airport and the surrounding boroughs of Hounslow and Southall, and they stayed.

Hounslow is famous for the film Bend it Like Beckham. The story of a Sikh girl who battles an insular family to play football. Once we arrived in the pub which doubled as a hostel we grabbed some food downstairs. The pub was traditional British in decor but the big screens were playing Banghra music (which I love) and the food on the menu was Indian with a few chips thrown in. So there was our anniversary; a sheesh kebab listening to Banghra in a pub in Hounslow. That night in seperate bunks we had a night free from fear of bed bugs in the case of Sarah and in my case no concern for the setting on the AC (there wasn't an AC). The strangest feeling was brushing my teeth that evening and realising, I don't have to look for a bottle of mineral water, the tap water is safe.

The 11th October and day 191 we had booked a tiny hire car from Heathrow airport, and we took the drive towards Dorset which would provide our bed for the night, but also Sarah's quest of searching for her ancestors in Dorchester where they sailed in 1635 for the America's to flee religious oppression. I had to pull over for a phone interview on the way. The job search added early stress to our journey for me, but I won't waste anymore words on that as this blog is about travel not work stress which I fled from in the beginning.

On the drive down we turned off to see what Southampton had to offer but ended up not parking but continuing to Lyndhurst near the New Forest. The day was rainy but that didn't stop us getting out and walking around this little town, and finding a church and completely happening across the grave of the girl who provided the influence for Alice in Alice in Wonderland for Lewis Carol. Then (and this sounds dull) we stopped for a pot of tea in a tea shop and everything charming about the UK came back to me as I stared out at the rain soaked streets.

In fact compared to the rest of the travels this entire blog may look dull to the reader but not for me. It was a reconcilliation of how great my little island really is, at least the charming southern part where I grew up. We found a Tesco and do you know how good the inside of a Tesco looks like when you've eaten nothing that cannot be flashed in a wok for 5 months? A good second to the supermarches of France. The cheese and fresh bread and the red wine, oh fuck me - the red wine! Don't hate us for enjoying crashing in our moderately priced hotel that evening, watching English TV and eating crusty bread and red wine.

Day 192 we made our way to Dorchester and had a mission as soon as parking. Museums and libraries was this mission. To find out some story behind the reason Sarah was born in Illinois and not England. The first museum had an entrance fee, and we wondered how much it would tell us about those who left England for the New World. The kind helpful lady advised us to go to the history centre a quick walk up the road. Another thing I missed; help being offered without a concern for an exchange of money. Being able to ask for directions without being ushered into a taxi is something you take for granted. The only repayment expected is an overly long "thank you" and "sorry to bother you".

We found the history centre, an archive library, signed in and started looking for the name of Lane around the 1600s. It looked like a needle in a haystack, but I found a record of a family called Lane who sailed with their family in April 1635. It looked promising. That said, Sarah looked at her family tree and she was looking for an Andrew. We found nothing concrete but in searching got a quick idea of the Great Migration to the Americas. It was an interesting stop.

We then drove onto to a town called Beer on the south coast of Devon. I remember this place from 1997 when a student. For adventure I decided to cycle from Bristol where I was studying to Liskeard in Cornwall where I grew up. A journey taking 3 days. My first stop was Beer and I remember the fish and chip shop where I bought chips and sat by the sea after covering 70 miles on the saddle in one day. We found it, and the chips were amazing. Again amazing after so long at least.

We continued to Plymouth where we stayed the night. Passing through the spendid Devon countryside. The county with reputedly the best standard of living in the UK (not fact-checked). We tried to relive one of our cross channel visits, and drank in the same Barbican pub we did in April 2008. It meant something to us.

The next day we continued to Cornwall where we would spend the night in Newquay. However, on the way we stopped off for pasty in Marrizion and to see St Michaels Mount. Sarah wanted to compare to Mont St Michel in France. It is the same in the sense the tide seperates it from the mainland. Very picturesque, and pasties taste better when staring out at the sea in Cornwall on a bright day. Then on to Lands End at the tip of Cornwall. Every place in Lands End entitled 'First and Last'. Then St Ives for another pasty then to Newquay where we stayed the night.

My brother lives in Cornwall and its been a long time since I've seen him, almost 4 years in fact. I couldn't travel down there, without catching up. We met for drinks in the Halfway House between Bodmin and Liskeard. Family are amazing. Once you fill in the blanks of the time spent apart, you quickly settle back into familiarity. In our case the humour was there and we were bouncing jokes off eachother with ease. It was an easy visit. It lasted a couple of hours before I rejoined Sarah back in Newquay. She was too tired to take the 1.5 hour round trip.

On arrival back at the hotel we 'hit' the Newquay town. It was a Saturday night and about 8pm when we made our way out, and the place was dead. Was this really the Cornish hotspot I'd worshipped in the early 1990's. The place where you would take a hip flask as getting served at the packed bars would be long process? Yes it was. What happened. We had no time finding a quiet place to sit and chat like people of our age do. Sitting and chatting is what we had to do for 6 months now, and you'd think the conversation would be hard. That said, with Sarah returning to the States and my plans in the UK until I join her, there was much to talk about. There are still so many unresolved plans which cover the next year at least.

We left early the next morning, but made a stop off in Minions. With all Sarah's interest in ancient history, I'm surprised I never took her to see The Hurlers and The Cheesewring which was on my doorstep for so much of my life. We had really lucked out with the Cornish weather over the two days, so Minions was a perfect walk. I reconciled my thoughts of England further and more pleasant memories crowded out the bad ones.

We drove all the way to Salisbury that night choosing a comfy Premier Inn to bed down. The next day was a 6am start to get the car returned for 9am at Heathrow. We got there with 15 minutes to spare. The Piccadilly line took us to Green Park. We surfaced at Green Park tube by the Ritz Hotel, then took the tourist trail through the park, past Buckingham Palace. A sandwich at the Pret A Manger in Victoria, which served as my lunch spot from 2007 to early 2009, provided a mini nostalgia. Then the Megabus to Manchester.

We arrived at my sisters back in Tameside Manchester. Gave the nephews and nieces their presents which had a novelty value of less than 2 hours. Sarah visited friends the following day, while I had an unsuccessful interview in central Manchester.

The 17th October and day 197 was Sarah's last day in the UK. We got the train from Guide Bridge to Manchester Airport, then set about the process of seeing her off. This was a strange feeling. We were both accepting of the fact that once she passed security, we would not meet again until US Immigration says we can. A period no less than 3 months, and a fair possibility of 2 years. (The latter being the worse case scenario, and if that was the case she can visit me in the UK or Canada. So I won't be over dramatic about that.) We were both aware this is something you can't get around, the immigration process to America runs on their speed. There is no way to speed it up, we were accepting of the harshness of seperation. Still as we walked towards the security gates, Sarah cracked and had tears, and me almost too. Being a man you feel it's better to be reassuring to your partner when she is in tears. We both quickly looked back on what we had done, how far we had come rather than how far we have yet to go.

Its like walking up that hill near Chiang Mai. You can look up and see the distance you have yet to go, and the seemingly impossible hill to overcome, but still you have no option but to climb it. Then you look behind and see how far you have climbed and look back at the view and this is the reward.

From meeting Sarah in New York five years ago, to negotiating the simpler but still expensive and tricky UK immigration process for Sarah. To getting married. To negotiating our life together with a wealth of cultural and emotional differences. To reaching agreement on our goals in life. This is before we take into account of last 6 months spent covering 19 countries. 6 months killing time, searching for hotels, working out currencies, visas, various foods. Understanding different customs. Arguing, making up, eating - lots of eating.

Do I feel a better person and a better couple after this? I think I do and I think this should be an acid test of most couples if they are able to undertake it. Being virtually in eachothers faces for 6 months, in mostly cramped spaces, you get to know someone. You get to know what to say which is necessary and unnecessary. You learn this by trial and error. So the learning process for me was intended to be the world. Yet it ended learning how to be a better husband. I know the theory, yet I have to battle the stupid inclinations of myself, to achieve the ideal.

I'm sat writing this 3 days after Sarah left and the novelty of space has worn off a little, and I miss her over in America dreadfully. She has a huge job of setting up, I only have one of surviving, saving some money and keeping my life temporary but functional. I have some adventure too.

This was always a travel blog, so the journey to America from here is a story for another day. Thank you for following me. That is all!

Days 185 to 188. From Chiang Mai to Bangkok

The trek left us both quite sore and therefore a free day ensued, which were getting quite more frequent as we approach the end of our travels. Along with approaching the end of travels comes approaching the end of the allocated travel money. This is quite a sobering thought. Looking at the bank balance back in April and seeing a healthy 5 figure sum, now reduced to 3 figures. You look back on the amount spent and quantify with yourself, was it spent wisely? Did we get all we could out of it? What did we intend to get out of it? I'm probably going to ask that again in my summary and many times after that. Especially in times in the future when we are hard-up.

Day 186 and 6th October we were booked on the night train to Bangkok at 5:30pm, leaving us a day in Chiang Mai. We filled most of this day with what may be the most interesting and memorable experience of the journey. We went to the Tiger Kingdom.

You will be right in assuming that tigers are involved in The Tiger Kingdom, and you may rightly assume it is touristy. That's not to take away from it. Tiger Kingdom is about 10km outside of Chiang Mai, and once inside you can play and cuddle tigers. The tiger sizes come in Smallest, Small, Medium and Big. There are various packages on offer combining sizes of tiger to interact with. We chose Smallest + Small + Big for B1250 each (£25 or $40).

There is no set order you need to do this, but we chose the Smallest first. There are some rules and guidance to follow. The main one is to not touch the tigers head, and always approach them from behind. The opposite to approaching a horse then. In any case on purchase of a ticket, you signed away all liability of Tiger Kingdom, should these beasts chew off your arm in a rage. Therefore, it is best to follow the rules.

The Smallest are about 3 months old, and very playful they are. Mostly with each other, although they can be playful with you. But being playful is a bit of nipping with each other, and you can see from a young age what razor teeth they have. You are not allowed to pick them up, but stroking and rubbing their tummy is loved, and they become very docile. The youngest are probably the most fun, as they are awake during the day. The latter ages they start becoming more tiger and like their 18 hours sleep a day, like George Bush did.

The Small category are aged about 6 months and are showing traces of cub cuteness, but evolving into the proud creatures they will be, the Big ones aged 18 months are a more amazing experience. The same rules apply for all the tigers remember, don't touch the head. You may even tickle their balls, and all you will get is a flick of the tail, but not the head. Incidentally the guard encouraged us to tickle a Small tigers balls. I was sceptical, but I did.

I can honestly say, and you won't believe  me unless you visit Tiger Kingdom yourself, I felt no fear with the big tigers. I could see their teeth and they were huge things, and the animal could rip the flesh off me like a well cooked barbecued rib, but still they are so calming. We both approached from behind and put our arms around a resting tiger. I smelt him and they smelt like a friendly dog (a smell I miss and love) and my arm raised up and down with the tigers breathing. Only occasionally did I think; wow I'm cuddling a huge killing machine.

They are drugged Chris, you cry. All I can say is again and again we were told they were not drugged. They are petted by humans from 3 months old, so they only know the nice side of humans. After 18 months they are sold to zoos, as after that point they become unpredictable, and maybe nature takes over and tells them, they are there to hunt and kill not have back-packers tickling their balls. They are so docile, because tigers need so much sleep, so their sleep pattern is the calmer also.

It is a zoo of sorts, and the animals will never be free, so make your own moral decisions based on that. However, I don't think there are many other ways to fully appreciate a tiger than to get this close. It has made me care more about the existence of the species in the wild, and I will look into how I can help personally. There are also tigers near Bangkok which are run by monks. However, I have read that despite this being run by monks, those beasts are more likely drugged, even though the setting looks more wild.

So after a lunch of burritos we caught the night train to Bangkok. You are expecting some expression of feelings as we complete the overland journey of 5,252 miles from Singapore, to Penang to Bangkok, through Cambodia, south to north Vietnam, to Vientiane in Laos to Lunang Prubang to Chiang Mai and back to Bangkok. I don't think I have any right now.

Last night we went out for dinner and here in Bangkok and Sarah wanted to go back in at about 7pm. She has been feeling run down as we reach the end. I stayed out a bit. Just two solo beers, watching the travellers and people go by. I think I wanted to be alone with Bangkok for a bit. I also enjoyed people watching and I felt so used to seeing travellers and back-packers, I could spot immediately which ones were at the beginning of their Asian journey and those at the end or a long way into. Maybe something about the look, less wide-eyed than the new arrivals. New arrivals over-do the "I know what I doing and where I'm going" look. And if I can spot this after 5 months in Asia, you can be sure the hawkers can.

Days 180 to 184. Last adventures in Northern Thailand

Chiang Mai is instantly an easy place to like. You like it when you first see the map. A city built around a square historic section and what looks like a moat. I've never been much more north than Bangkok in Thailand before, but many I know had. From their descriptions I drew up an idea that it is a bit of a back-water. Of course I knew it was Thailands second city, but then again Battambang is Cambodia's second city, Wyella is South Australias second city. Just because Chicago is the US' second city (or is it LA), doesn't mean that another country can't have a bloody great drop-off from the big one to the next biggest. What I did notice straight away from arrival at the guesthouse, to the obligatory first confused wander up the street for food, is that if Chiang Mai has a comparison (and I'm always looking for them) it is Queenstown in New Zealand. Every two steps you pass a travel agency and each travel agency has something for you to do. Chiang Mai is somewhere you go to 'do something'. We had in our mind before arrival, a mental cruise along in the last week and a half. In reality we booked ourselves on a 2 day trek.

But first we had our teeth to sort out. Sarah came out with antibiotics and some good advice. Chris living up to the stereotype of British having bad teeth, left minus a tooth and some painkillers and antibiotics, oh and half a day of intense pain as my gum got used to being an open wound. Now it is free of pain and life is easier. This is something that should have been sorted in Saigon, but I was scared of what that teenager would do to me. The Thai dentist did an amazing job. I also think I've learnt something about myself, I look over my dental history from the nurse at school to recently, and I trust lady dentists only. Men don't put me at ease.

Anyway dentists aren't interesting so onto the trek. It was a small group, just one other couple in fact. Italians called Guilio and Ariana who were great company throughout. I read in the guidebook a trek can be good or bad based on the group not the guide or itinerary, so in that case we were set.

The action took a while to get going. Past the orchid and butterfly farm (I've wasted too many words on that already). Then a snake zoo, with a snake show. Scary cobra's and pythons etc and men goading these snakes to bite them, with a few facts how poisonous the legless reptiles are. The only entertaining aspect was the MC who had such a creepy seductive voice. "heh let big snake kiss little snake (a penis) and 30 seconds you sleep for long time.... mmm oh yeah".

A visit to the Kayan tribe, the people with long-necks was a disappointment. I thought it would be part of the trek, but in actuality it was just a turn off on the main road, and there was the most artificial of villages with the tribe making scarfs and other crafts. Everyone taking pictures and thinking they are of National Geographic calibre, but really it was like taking photos of animals in the zoo. I was quite uncomfortable with it, but left questioning what I really expected. The ladies put an extra ring around their neck, for beauty I'd imagine. The weight of rings pushes the shoulders down, rather than stretches the neck. Nowadays, it's probably done more for tourism than feminine beauty, which made me wince a bit seeing little girls started on this process. Little girls bred for tourism. I can't reconcile my view of ethical tourism with this, but it sets my moral compass in a bit of a confused spin.

After a 15 minute stop at a market (*shrugs shoulders*) we eventually arrived at the start of the trek. Lunch of rice and watermelon was a good slow release energy meal for what was to come. We met our guide, who introduced himself as 'Wit'. An adequate guide as guides go, although having got pissed the night before was often lagging behind with a hangover. We would later find out Wit is hungover all the time. It didn't matter too much as the trail was easy to see. It was also very hard work, for us anyway. The Italians suffered less it seemed.

It was uphill almost totally for about 4 hours (including frequent stops). The humidity was fierce, and sweat poured through me, and left me not caring whether it rained torrents or not. In fact rain was what I would have wanted. To see a flat bit was a relief, but often all to short before another steep climb would show itself. My coping mechanism was to go 'into myself' and meditate for a bit. One swing of the stick and count four steps, one swing of the stick, count four steps, again and again, my own pace. Of course I would often come out of this trance noticing it slowed me down and the rest of the group, including Sarah and the hungover guide were miles ahead. An energy sapping sprint would redress my moments of contemplation.

With all long uphill walks you are repaid by looking round and seeing how far you've climbed and majestic scenery. This was no exception to that rule. A stop about 10 minutes from our bed for the night, was a vendor selling drinks. I was bracing myself for exploitation. Thirsty white people, miles from a 7 Eleven, they will pay in gold for a cold drink? Wrong, a cold beer was only B 50 (£1). I opted for a coke, cold and drenched in ice, it went down in 4 or 5 gulps, no exaggeration. Then invigorated with sugar and a quenched thirst, I belched my way up the final push.


The village was basic and perfect. Of course as soon as I arrived I sat myself on the floor of the bamboo veranda and gulped down water and just... well sat and sweat. The others were checking out the sleeping quarters, and showering. I just sat. My moment of nothingness was broken by two girls and a baby playing around me. They saw my camera and asked me to take pictures. Such cute kids, more joined us later. Including a young chap who's pet was a stag beetle on a lead. I'm not lying.

After a shower, which was a tap a meter off the ground surrounded by bamboo walls, I saw our sleeping area which we would share with Guilio and Ariana. It was a big room with mosquito nets, and mattresses. It looked so cosy, but maybe after that walk it wouldn't be hard to make anything cosy.

pet beetle on a lead

None of the house had any electricity as I suspect none of the village did. A fire in the kitchen was where Wit cooked us a green curry and another stir fry dish with steamed rice. Sat on the floor with dusk enveloping the surrounding mountains, it was the perfect meal. With the smell of the fire, Guilio on the guitar and a few  Beer night caps, this was truly perfect. Add to this the kids playing around us and playing games on our friends iPhone. Really wonderful. Having this in the final weeks of our travels made it all the better. I won't say I slept brilliantly, but I enjoyed my night in the hills and possibly found a spot I will come back to one day.

The following morning after another wood smoked fire cooking our breakfast we walked back down to hill to the waterfall. Walking downhill uses another set of muscles and isn't necessarily easier than uphill. Still we made it there, accompanied by the village dog. A black mini-wolf shaped thing, whom Sarah named 'Bandit'. He went with us up to the waterfall and then went back home.

The waterfall was as scenic as you'd expect a waterfall would be, but with the heat and humidity, jumping under it was obviously the aim. It was very cold, and after 5 months in Asia, really cold water is rare. The heat bakes any water which stands still for a second. Climbing over the rocks isn't easy, neither is standing under the waterfall itself. The water dropping a great height can be almost painful as it bashes on your head. Still the refreshment from the falls, tided me over until we reached the end of our trek and the next stop. Incidentally with the waterfall reached, so was the bottom of the hill. Therefore, we had a nice level stroll back.

Our next stop was lunch of noodles followed by an elephant ride. It was ok, and we bounced along on top of these slow moving beasts for an hour. Quite exciting, but you get the feeling the elephants have done this journey a million times, and their boredom rubbed off on me.

The final bit was the white water rafting. We saw some others doing it, and wondered if we had a guide, as it looked a bit hairy at times. We did, and he made it all so easy for us. "GO" meant paddle forward. "STOP" meant stop paddling and hang onto the side rope "BACK" meant paddle backwards and "GET DOWN" meant get down off the edge and inside the boat. Four different orders to work out, easy enough. The rapids were exhilarating, and refreshing in the heat to have a huge wave hit you in the face. At one easy point the guide said we could get in and swim. I was the only one to. Just floating with life jacket down river was probably as good as the tubing in Laos. Then Sarah told me about snakes and I headed as fast as I could back to the boat. Unfortunately swimming up river is impossible so I positioned myself for the boat to come to me. Getting back into the raft was impossible without help as it is too high out of the water. The guide sorted it out by telling me to turn round, then he pulled my by my life jacket out. Once in the raft, my life jacket was around my waist and my shorts showing a considerable arse-crack, this was a beautiful moment. Also it turned out the snakes weren't a threat at all in the water, there was no need for me to head for the raft so fast.

We ended the adventure with a bamboo raft floating down to our final stop, where a truck was waiting to take us back to Chiang Mai. En route I noticed how bad I smelt. Some girl was holding a cloth over her nose the entire time, and being French Canadians (I think) they switched to French and I know I heard the word 'peu' after a struggled giggle. Oh grow a tolerant bone you Quebequi Cow!

We got back to Chiang Mai, showered off the stains of our trek, had a meal and lights out by 8:30pm, satisfied that despite our fatigue, we'd done something really memorable.

This morning we were awake for 8am to watch the US Presidential debate. Romney was impressive and passionate. Obama, seemed like he just turned up out of the goodness of his heart, and that his record will be enough. Maybe his lack of passion here, in the debate about health, taxation and the economy could cost him dearly. It's the domestic issues which will concern American voters. Maybe turning up the passion on the next debate, being foreign policy could be too little too late. Who cares? Whoever gets in, I will still be sat in front of a computer for 40 hours a week.

Tomorrow we are off to see some tigers, if I get round to booking it. Then the day after it's the night train to Bangkok. 

Day 179 - Luang Prubang to Chiang Mai

Let me start by saying that the Chiang Mai destination was not planned at the outset. We purchased bus tickets from Luang Prubang to Huay Xai, the border stop on the Mekong.

Things started badly for the bus journey when we were initially delayed by a full hour. The VIP bus was "broken" so they had placed us on a local bus. Sarah went to enquire whether the replacement was also VIP. She was assured it was. I knew the assurance wasn't worth shit. "Broken buses" I've heard it a million times.

A tuk tuk took us to a local bus station where we boarded a packed bus, containing locals and just one other westerner. There is nothing wrong with this, and I love travelling with locals, but not when we've paid for a VIP. There was no VIP bus, the tour company pocketed the difference. Then put us on the 11 hour ride from hell.

The seats were comfy, and a blanket was provided and the AC was a good standard, so far so good.  As we pulled away the driver put on some music. Not our taste and a little loud, but so what most of those on board were ok with it, so democracy rules. It was still before 8pm afterall. For some reason it was turned off with the lights and that suited us to get some sleep.

At about 10pm a man beside us starting puking into a plastic bag. Then another. A kind of milky substance, and the noise he made while doing it. He wanted no one to be in any doubt he was vomiting. One bag he threw out the window, and the other he tied in a knot to the side of his chair for the remainder of the journey.

About 12:30am I woke as the lights went full on and a lady with holding a baby jumped on board. Although all seats were taken. The bus conductor kindly offered her a wooden seat, and she sat on that throughout the remainder of the journey. No one offered her a seat (including me). Some elderly people came on afterwards and again they were also given wooden seats in the aisle and again no one offered them a seat (including me). Should the driver be forced to do an emergency stop. There would be 3 holes in the wind screen in the shape of two skinny elder gents and mother holding a child.

From 1:30am the driver decided this was a good time to blast out up-tempo music and did so until 3am when Sarah had enough and told him to turn it down. All the while some woman in the front was hacking up and spitting for the entire journey on and off. A kind of painful scream with every evacuation of phlegm. The lights, which were neon green and orange went on and off without reason. It was like everything possible was being done to stop sleep. The kind of treatment they gave to IRA suspects in the 1980s to make them confess to anything. It also beggared belief that we seemed the only ones the least annoyed or unable to sleep. Asians only need to sit still for 5 minutes to fall asleep, and they could do it in the middle of a road works.

Laotians seem such simple people and I feel bad saying this. Maybe its their manners that have not evolved in the same direction ours have. They push past and cause bottle necks on buses and queues when to any observer, just letting someone go first, eases the crowd and we all leave or enter somewhere quicker. I'm sure in the name of equality there are ample examples which prove me wrong here, but from my dealings they seem far too laid back. By saying far too laid back, I'm of course holding my tongue.

We arrived at Huay Xai at about 7am, a full 2 hours earlier than we were told. Then again the Laotian who sold us the ticket wasn't altogether sure if we were going to Vientiane or Huay Xai.

Huay Xai was nice little place to end our Laos visit. Equally charming, if in a different way, to the entry point out of Vietnam over a week ago. A nice border town selling a last minute chance for a t-shirt, some snake wine or a flat screen TV.

We saw some steps that led up to another bloody temple. We climbed up and looked back and there was the muddy Mekong and the houses on the other side were in Thailand. Tired and travelled out we saw a ticket vendor and bought a ticket all the way to Chiang Mai. After 9am we departed. We had to pay $1 as it was a Saturday for overtime. I asked the border guard "what happens if we don't pay, do you deport us?". He understood but didn't laugh. I paid up.

The boat chugged across 5 minute crossing of the Mekong. Looking down at either side I saw for that period I had left Laos but not entered Thailand, so I was on a boat and not in a country.

We banked up and passed through Thai immigration in no time. So we were in our last country. We had decided we didn't want the hassle of Bhurma, well not today anyway. Our bus took us over the flat neat roads of Northern Thailand, arriving here in Chiang Mai at about 5pm (we were promised 2:30pm, oh I give not a shit anymore). In a couple of days we are taking the night train to Bangkok. That will be the end of our Asian travels. Tomorrow though... the dentist. I have a rotten tooth to have yanked out. Lovely.

Days 177 to 178 - Luang Prubang, Laos

We are nearing the end of our journey, and I am not sure if we are visiting places or this is part of the long winding road to Bangkok. The big city at the hub of Asian travel. Where we will buy presents and also get the healthcare we need. We have only 12 days left.

Our lives back home are looking good. I have a place at my sisters until I sort myself out. Sarah looks like she has secured a job and a place in the USA. This will be in Haines, Alaska. Alaska was our original plan, and it looks like it has come full circle. I'm excited and confused all at once. However, I'm curtailing my excitement, as between the USA and me stands the dreaded interview at the American Embassy. Thirty minutes of my life sat in front of a US diplomat who will decide my future based on a bit of a checkered, but fully disclosed past.

Back to the journey. We left Vang Vieng at 11ish and the bus journey through the mountains of Laos was magnificent. I was reading the actor Rob Lowes biography (dissappointing) most of the time, but had to put it down to look out the window to counteract travel sickness. The roads are winding and the speed of the bus I doubt passed 30mph for any of the 200 mile journey. This didn't matter. It was a honour to look out at the Laotian villages. They seem to build the smallest of wooden stilt houses all along the road. The people and children look so clean and content despite what is obviously not affluence.

We arrived at about 6pm into Luang Prubang, and through travel weariness took the first guesthouse with the right price offered. Its wasn't bad at all. On leaving to eat, we wondered where the Ubud or Hoi An we envisaged was. It was not until the following day, when we had a map and the correct turn we saw it there almost on our doorstep.

Central and historic Luang Prubang is a peninsular formed by the Nam Khan River meeting the mighty Mekong. To this end its a good place to wander as you cannot get lost, you run out of land. In the evening the restaurants lit up by fairy lights and sitting alongside the Mekong almost turn a torch on the magic of the town. Added to this, the town circles Wat Phu Si on the hill looking down on the town. You have a great place to wander.

We were sat having fruit shakes as a sort of breakfast desert, and I was thumbing through the bible that is Lonely Planet. I seemed to remember a temple where the narrative in the book says, "Despite the onset of temple fatigue (after three weeks in Asia) Wat Xieng Thong in Luang Prubang completely seduced me...". Did you say Luang Prubang. I saw this ages ago and wasn't sure where the temple was, possibly in the south or miles from where we are. A quick look on the map and it was merely a 10 minute walk north east alongside the Mekong.

I must say it obviously meant more to the writer, than it did to us. I had seen much better temples, but it was pretty good to have another look at a golden Buddha, and maybe get some more merits. The fun happened when we also found out it was a working temple, where young monks are schooled. I saw a gang of monk teenagers, garbed in the usual orange and arm wrestling. I signaled asking if I could take a picture. They said no and I respected their wishes. For some reason, like a boy asking to join a game of football I asked to arm wrestle. They were pleased to oblige. The first one I beat quite easily, but the second was a little harder to beat and pushing his wrist down that extra inch and seeing his earnest muscles flex in determination not to be defeated was impressive. Still he went down. I feared they would all line up to beat chubby Goliath. However, by the third monk my arms muscles had given up and he beat me very quickly. That was entertaining. How many can say they've arm wrestled a monk?

Today we have Luang Prubang to ourselves until 5pm. Then we catch a 14 hour bus to Huay Xai. Huay Xai also sits on The Mekong. Although on the other side of the river is Chiang Khong in Thailand. Yes we've almost reached the end of Laos.

Laos has been good to us. It hasn't hassled us much. On reflection, I don't think the people are amazingly friendly. Being friendly takes effort and it seems Laotians run from any effort of any sort. You are warned as a westerner entering Laos, that Laotians move at their pace. This should be fine, but even the most chilled of us can find themselves tapping their feet when a waiter looks slowly for a calculator to work out the change of Kp17,000 when handed a Kp 20,000 note. Or it may be it is time for me to go home to my world. It's all a learning curve.

Days 172 to 175. Laos; Vientiane to Vang Vien

sing the riverboat song.

As soon as we entered Laos, what all had told me about Laotians seemed true. The visa on arrival was easy, and done in a friendly, if slow way. We were also told that Laotians move at their own speed. I was ready and fine with this. Our 30 day visas were issued in 10 minutes, and we exited out the other end of the building and we were in Laos. Beforehand a check that we'd purchased a visa from so border control. He and she both wore warm smiles. I picked up Khop Jay Lai Lai (thank you) and struggled it out. The border guard laughed beautifully at my pathetic pronounciation, slapped my arm, returned my passport, and we were in. The last new country of our journey... or is it?

The countryside as soon as you left Vietnam was worthy of the shires in Lord of the Rings. The rocky streams and sheer green mountains. We could see by the houses that we had joined poverty more closely related to rural Cambodia than Vietnam and Thailand. We left the border at about 8am and we would arrive into the outskirts of Vientiane at about 5pm that evening.

My initial flick through the guidebook, led me to think on the lines of heading north to Vang Vien, then East to where the Plain of Jars are. However, I got speaking to a Slovenian girl name Taz, who had been with us since Hanoi. She spoke of Luang Prubang and the north west of Laos. When I read more, it looked just what I was looking for to finish the last few weeks of the journey. Chilled out villages and towns, dotted along crisp mountain rivers. A route which made more sense being that we are to head from Northern Thailand to Bangkok to complete our travels.

We haggled with a van to drop us into central Vientiane, and ended up paying the equivalent of £3 each, quite steep. However we also noted that there seemed little competition or room to negotiate. We had to take the ride. How can I describe central Vientiane? With almost 5 months in Asia and arriving in big cities like Bangkok, Phnom Penh, Saigon, Kuala Lumpur etc, you expect some bussle. Vientiane is such a sleepy city. Not even a city really, it seems like a town. We were there on a Saturday and Sunday, but it seemed dead. The bars provided a little noise, but still it was very chilled. Tuk Tuk drivers were there and they would make you aware of their availability. But when you said no once, they accepted it instantly. No "where you going?" and pulling out a map of interesting places in the area. Laos is just what you need after months of being treated like an ATM by the locals.

In light of the quiet, we have no anecdotes of our time in Vientiane. Instead we headed north on Monday the 24th September to Vang Vien.

The bus left about 1 hour late, and this was largely due to a group of Spaniards who couldn't get their shit together. Their drinking and smoking was more important than anyone elses needs, including the driver who would was looking forward to being with his family again, after he driven these mashed up Mediteranean Morons for a day. In the last 5 minutes before we were definately leaving, one of the Spaniards decided he'd left his passport at the hotel and asked all to wait while he fetched it. He returned with the passport and several big bottles of Beer Lao to drink on the way.

Vang Vien, is a backpacker haven, and the main draw is the tubing. It's a simple activity. You rent a tube, get dropped off 3km up the river and float back to town. Up until recently this was a boozy activity. Bars would litter the river bank and Farang would get drunk and high, crash into rocks and die in droves. I was quite scared, to read several warnings about this. So when we went to rent the tubes I had a surge of reluctance and asked to switch to Kayaking. However the kayaking was a much more led tour, and much more expensive. I came to my senses in realising that the freedom activity was the tubing. I just didn't want to die. Luckily we found out the river was low, and this put my mind at rest.

We paid £4.25 for tube hire. A tuk tuk dropped us up the river and in we got. There was no skill involved really. Just get in and float. Maybe occasionally paddle yourself away from the bank and rocks, but nothing else to do except sit back. See the mountains pass by, and wave to locals on the river bank. The bars have now been all closed down, so the fatalities have hopefully decreased. We joined a German mother and daughter for the tubing. They made use of our rented water proof bag for their items. Also three Japanese were in our group. Apart from me being too absorbed in taking pictures than where I was going, hence getting caught in some branches for a while, nothing of excitement happened. This was the point, a relaxing chill on the river. I'm so glad Sarah made me do it. She was right, we can't come to Vang Vien (or even Laos for that matter) and not tube.

I'm not hugely attracted to Vang Vien. It seems everything I wanted to come to Laos to get away from. The drinking is prominent. The bars look a little like those in Pattaya Thailand. This dislike was further compounded by a loud drunken fight outside our room in the early hours. With the river enjoyed, I'm glad to be moving on.

Tomorrow we are heading to Luang Prubang. We are informed this is another Hoi An and Ubud. A cultural part of Laos, with chill and kraft shops. From there west to the Thai-Lao border. Then, and this is a possibility I am hoping for.We have read that just north of Chiang Rai in Thailand you can get a short visitors permit for Bhurma. Only one village, but that may be an extra country and one few I know have visited.

Right now, the tooth trouble which came in Ho Chi Minh City, has recurred. There is nothing I can do but pain killers until I get to Bangkok or Chiang Mai. But I've whinged enough about health matters in my past posts so I won't now.



 

Days 167 to 172. Hanoi to Ha Long Bay and goodbye Vietnam.

We arrived in Hanoi about 11:30am. The night train was neither the best nor the worst. We shared a 4 bed cabin with an Asian girl, who kept herself to herself.  In reaching the north of Vietnam, I was hoping to find something akin to our arrival in Istanbul, almost 5 months ago, but I didn't. It was all a bit anti-climax.

I was also hoping to see the glaring differences between north and south Vietnam, which so many had said is obvious. Nothing immediately jumped out. We were in Hanoi for 2 nights, and during that time we took a nice walk around the lake on our first night. The second day we were meant to go to Ho Chi Minhs Mausoleum and see Uncle Ho himself mummified. We learnt after the long hot walk to the area, that it closes at 11am. Still we walked and found a park to sit and chill. The mausoleum area, which also had the Presidential Palace is an impressive area. Wide empty roads, and huge flag poles make you imagine what the place must be like when used for a celebratory function.

The 19th of September and day 169 was the first of two nights in Ha Long Bay. The bus picked us up within the time frame promised and 4 hours later we were pulling up at the harbour to meet our boat. The large wooden oriental junk was replaced by a white piece of maritime crap, with flaking paint, and missing those important sails. Then again all other boats seemed to be missing those sails. Our cabin was comfy enough. Our guide had quickly took the guise of an impatient control freak, whos attempts at stand up comedy would be no source of insecurity to Jack Dee.

After being shown our cabins, we were given lunch. Lunch was reasonably okay. Rice, baked fish, stir fried veggies, spring rolls. We were offered a beer with our dinner. We knew drinks were extra, but VND 40,000 ($2) was daylight robbery. Those who thought that bringing their own drinks could save money would find that they would be charged a 'service charge' for those. The greedy mark-up on the drinks, would be something that would bite this tour company in the arse later, as most stayed sober and the late night party was flat for most.

The first stop was this enormous cave, which is impressive, but the artificial lights and man made fountains made it look so disney, the rocks looked like they were shaped from concrete. Still quite impressive.  Much more entertaining was seeing our boat carve up it's safety fence and the deck of another moored boat, in a pathetic attempt at parking (or whatever boats do). More Nikons were focused in on this than the caves. This happened just before we left the caves.

Next we went to a floating village to take up kayaking. I've not paddled a canoe in ages, not since college I think. Sarah never has kayaked before, but apart from a little steering communication difficulties, we got the thing moving pretty well. I really enjoyed it and maybe this could be a mid-life crisis hobby for me. It was quite entertaining to paddle out underneath a rock tunnel.

Ha Long Bay is utterly magnificent, nothing in my moans about being conned, should take away from the size and beauty of the place. Looking on Google Earth, the size it covers is immense. Large boats look dwarfed by the cliffs rising out the sea and covered in vegetation. It's not just a symbol of Vietnam, possibly a banner for the beauty of the South China Sea. With our shit little boat chugging along and seeing nothing but layers of the cliffs turning slightly blue with dusk, you suddenly felt very peaceful and philosophical.

On the way to where we would spend the night, I got chatting to some girls from Bristol. Two of them had been travelling for 10 months and the third had joined them for the last 7 weeks. One of them is returning to Australia to work on a farm, the others going back to uni. I was so inspired by their passion for life, and lack of any negativity. I yearned for the days when I was less grumpy and more ready to take the bull by the horns. Later that evening when the boat anchored up, and we had the option to jump off the top deck into the water, the first two were the Bristol girls. Followed by an American, then a Canadian, then me. The water at dusk, seemed warm but refreshing. Jumping from the height and for maybe only a second or two, being underwater in a maze of bubbles and confusion gives you a brief clarity. I did one more for the video, then showered for dinner. We went to bed early that night, or in my case fell asleep on the bed wearing my outdoor shorts.

Day 170, we started the day with a trek on Cat Ba Island. An island in the sense it is a cliff in Ha Long of the larger variety, possibly. The trek was to the top of a peak and further up to a lookout. It wasn't really hard, but with the heat and humidity and the rain, I would say it had a little discomfort. Occasionally on both our ascent and descent we had slippery rocks and rusty ladders to negotiate. The view from the top was limited as it was a cloudy day, but still you got a great sense of the magnificence of the green jagged landscape. Recently we had been lamenting how lazy we've become, so I'm glad we did it, and along with the canoeing the day prior, I felt happy we have got our exercise.

After the trek a  bus took us through the island to another harbour where we took the boat to where we were staying the night, Monkey Island. I'll save you the suspense in waiting for a story of monkey violence, which has been the theme for our Asian travels. We saw not a single monkey during our stay on the island, which suited me, and the monkeys. I had been looking to this part as the brochure showed us a picture of the bungalow we were to stay in. A large veranda, crisp sheets, and glass partitioned shower. My breaking point happened when we were taken to our "superior" bungalow. It was a bamboo hut, with no windows. The outside seating area was a log table and chairs. I was seething. I know roughing it is inevitable, but not when we'd parted with $215 for two. The ship fell short on the big junk cruiser we'd been promised. Sarah was tired of me being grumpy about this, and I couldn't help feeling conned as we were. My anger was energy which should not have been used to put pressure on a relationship, it should be used to good. I stormed to the guide, who was a little fucking nazi the whole trip (I never got his name so I will call him Pol Pot from now on), and asked why we'd been given a crap shack and not the bungalow with veranda, as in the brochure. The reason we paid an extra $30 each. He showed our names and "superior" next to them. "Superior" I spat "superior to what?. That would cost about $5 in Thailand". The guide ermed and aahed, and said nothing useful. In front of others (who would also complain themselves later) I snatched the keys out his hand with a "fuck this". I'd had it up to here with the way we are supposed to not get angry to Asians for fear they lose face. Well if they lie and con and harrass you, maybe they should lose face. In any case I wanted face for a change.

It made me remember December 2008, when I was late for a connecting flight in Detroit to London. I arrived at the desk and asked when the next flight is. "Tomorrow, same time 8pm" the professional but clever American customer services told me. She smelt my vulnerability. Or saw it in my accent and bad teeth. "So are you covering the cost of a hotel?" I asked too feebly. "I'm sorry sir, weather is something outside of our control, we are not liable. Please check downstairs for hotel recommendations, there will be a free shuttle". "Oh thanks so much, sorry to bother you". I made my way to my grief hole for the night, on the free shuttle. This was after hearing a yank on the phone with the same problem. "Now what I need you to do, is put me on flight xxx tomorrow, we will require an upgrade as compensation, and free champagne and a blow job sent to our room". This time at Monkey Island I wasn't going to be the pathetic Brit too embarrased to kick up a fuss. I was going to be That American guy.In fact if I can have my new years resolutions early. It is to be 'That American Guy' at Detroit airport from now on. I have less than 20 days of travel left and it won't be spent with Ting Tong flipping me over a bamboo table and banging me dry.

Despite him telling us not to, as we were on a Happy Saga Tour type schedule and not free to relax, I went back and changed before dinner, taking longer than the 15 minutes Pol Pot had assigned us. After dinner he pulled me aside, and put his manager on the phone. I couldn't understand much, but long-story-short they upgraded us to the bungalow we booked in then first place. Half of me felt grateful for Pol Pot making the call. Then I immediately felt mad that I had to kick up a stink to get some of what we paid for. He received no tip. In any case his company would mess up some more before we boarded our bus to Laos.

The dinner that evening of a barbecue and buffet was very good to be honest. Oysters and pork. Plenty of chips and good rice, and much more which filled my plate. We sat with a Malaysian called Ben. His actual name was longer, but he Westernised it for me and others. After dinner I played him a couple of games of pool. We won one each. Sarah and I played eachother at Ping Pong and she won one game. She is quite good.

According to Pol Pot we had to be packed and sat for breakfast by 7:15 hours on our relaxing Ha Long tour. This we did and we were on the boat leaving by 7:45 sharp. As the boat pulled away we looked back at the splendor of Monkey Island, while listening to the German girl in our group complaining how she'd been unfairly charged extra for something she was no doubt told was included in the original price. All these complaints seemed to betray the reason why the unsubtle tip envelopes left on our tables the night prior, were left conspicuously thin.

It was a short boat-trip back to Cat Ba Island then the bus to the harbour, then a small boat to a bigger main boat to take us the remainder of the journey. We were sat for over and hour on the main boat, and with that and other delays exceeding hours at a time, you got to wondering why we had to get up so early. Eventually the boat chugged away and en route I finished The Beach by Alex Garland. So good a book, you want to tell whichever studios concerned that they should remake the movie, and do it properly this time. The main difference being that Richard was British and didn't shag anyone in any of the 438 pages I read. Although in the film Leo DeCap was up to his nuts in every attached girl he could find. Unneccesary and misleading to the plot. Back to the boat trip. We sat on the deck soaking in the rays and watching the rocks and islands pass by, and this was a good moment. Then we were called to lunch as we approached the harbour of Ha Long City.

At our table were Ben, the Malaysian we befriended a Dutch guy, who had overslept and was in his boxers when Pol Pot knocked on his door to say we were leaving. Also a couple of Israelis. The conversation kicked off by Ari talking to Ben and asking him to show how his passport clearly states that he is not permitted to enter Israel. It also leads on to how Israelis aren't allowed to enter Malaysia. This is the same for Pakistan and many other Islamic countries. I wanted to say "good for Malaysia, it was the same for South Africa in the 70s and 80s, that is the correct way to treat states which foster racism and apartheid ". I held my tongue as I wanted to listen. I saw in front of me two people I liked. Two people who realised how much they need America, how much they dislike Prime Minister Ntenyahu's war mongering, and two people who have a fear that Israel will attack Iran. Two people who will be more at risk than I from the consequences of this decision made by suited politicians and arm chair generals safely tucked away in Washington and Jerusalem. It is funny because usually when I meet Israelis, they are arrogant and easy to dislike. This is easier for me. Two likeable Israelis and Ari who liked big gigs and was at V 2005 in Chelmsford watching Oasis, sharing the same field as me, was uncomfortable in some ways. All Israelis are conscripted by law to serve in the army. Therefore, there was a huge likelihood that these two in front of me had taken an active part in the machinations of what I consider one of the worlds evil states.  I don't know, I liked them a lot.

The bus was supposed to get us back to Hanoi for 4:30pm as we were to catch a night bus to Vientiane in Laos that evening. We spent an hour or more sat in a marina waiting room (this could have been done in bed or the beach). Pol Pot ordered us outside 30 minutes before the bus arrived, saying it is almost here. For a while we all stood with our back-packs on, before realising it would be a while so one by one we all dropped them on the floor. Then one by one we all found a place to sit on the floor. When the bus actually arrived, Pol Pot shouted "everyone stand up". We obeyed, what else could we do.

They crammed us on a minivan, and off we set, destined to reach our pick up point for the bus at 5pm. Leaving little margin for error. On the journey back we saw something pretty amazing. A monk had set himself the task of walking from South to North Vietnam, only bowing and kissing the road every three steps. Amazing acheivement. I hope he finds a good chiropractor at the end of his quest. It had taken him 4.5 years when we saw him passing on the road between Hanoi and Ha Long City.

We reached the travel agents in Hanoi at about 5:10pm. Pol Pot rang ahead and said they would wait for us. We believed him. At this stage I want to hope that Trekking Tours of 47 Hang Be, Hanoi comes up in a google search. As well as a lady called Bich Dung working as one of their agents at The Binh Duong Hotel in Hue. DO NOT USE THESE USELESS MORONS!!!!!!

The brochures will be exaggeration to say the least, but using them for a connection bus on the day gives you the stress you will have paid considerable money to alleviate. The connection to the bus for Vientiane was the worse part. One we reached TREKKING TOURS of 47 HANG BE, HANOI. We went upstairs and said who we were and she said, it should be here by 5:45pm. We sat there waiting in a cafe, hungry but not able to order any food less the bus arrive. 5:55pm passed and I went upstairs. She was confused we were still here. At 6:10pm two motorcycles turned up. They were for us. They popped on our ruck-sacks, gave us a helmet then sped off into the Hanoi night with us on the back. This was our shuttle to the bus station.

At first it was pretty exciting being out there whizzing around Hanoi amongst all the other bikes. I looked across to Sarah. I'm not sure she was enjoying it as much as I, so I smiled at her and hoped to cheer her up. The bikes made a concerted effort to stay together for a little while, but soon I lost sight of Sarah's bike and this made me uncomfortable. My drivers English was limited to "ok" or "no problem" and getting answers in time and distance was hard. Getting an answer to "please can you tell you friend with my wife to wait for us to catch up", was fruitless. At once you start to question what you are doing. This was compounded when we made two laps around the lake, and my driver looked lost and doubled back on himself a few times. I would be lying if I said I wasn't a bit scared that the driver had motored off with Sarah, took her down a small alley and raped and murdered her. A more likely worry is that an accident happened with Sarah's driver and she had no way of getting hold of me. I've just turned round and asked Sarah my mobile number and she doesn't know it now, and wouldn't have known it then. In my mind I played over scenarios of me running to the US Embassy first, as Sarah is the priority. If I ran to the British one first, and she was alive, she'd never forgive me and call me a coward.

Obviously as I'm typing this now in Vientiane, it all worked out and the motorcycles reunited me with my wife and we boarded the bus. The bus was another sleeper, but the excitement of the day meant sleep wasn't as hard as it had been on other sleeper coaches. I woke up at 3:15am, got back to sleep but woke as the coach came to a halt at about 6:20am on 22nd September, day 172. We were parked just before a red striped barrier. We had reached the Viet-Lao Border. It would open at 7am, and until then we sat and waited watching the new sun over the misty mountains.

The Viet-Lao Border

Vietnam deserves a summary as the country we spent the longest amount of time in. I looked on it as an epic overland journey, or even a big part of the epic overland we have been on since leaving Singapore on 9th August. The truth for me is the Ha Long Bay trip should have been the cherry on the cake. In fact I remember blogging saying that Vietnam may end up being the cherry on the cake (or did I say the 'icing'?). If so it was a horrible plastic cherry, not a real one. Asia is beautiful, but sometimes tourism has a knack of making Asians take a wonderful place like Ha Long and fucking it up entirely. Ha Long may be a better experience for someone else, but from the Canadian in Hanoi, who said "most people are dissappointed" to the majority of our co-travellers on the cruise, and a Slovenian girl who travelled with us to Vientiane, it was bitter-sweet. I've been advised the same dissappointment can be derived from a visit to Sapa and the rice terraces in Nam.

But that was the north, and we were not there long, so it's unfair to judge the country by that. My experience of the South. Ho Chi Minh City, the Mekong Delta, the enchanted port of Hoi An, the rainy but refreshing Dalat and more is very positive. Vietnam is such a photogenic country. It's been an experience I will remember for the rest of my life, good and bad. The 28 days will be replayed in anecdotes to work colleagues, whether they like it or not, for a good long while. I'm trying to take one thing where Nam excelled, and I think I will say the food. By that I mean Pho Bo and fresh spring rolls. Of all the experiences and recipes I will try and seek out back in the West, this may be my priority. Also I wouldn't be me if I didn't make a political opinion here and I think the way Nam has progress from the most brutal war, to what it is today. A war that not only caused structural damage, but pitted north vs south. Of course the tensions between north and south exist today, but god knows the tensions of The American Civil War, 150 years ago leaves a trace of animosity between the northern and southern states, even if this generation doesn't know it exists. I like to think of the Vietnamese spirit being; get right back up after knocked down.

Days 164 to 166. Hue

Hue is a town of much cultural importance, while not as pretty as Hoi An. Half way up the long lanky country that is Vietnam, it is for many a huge jump to or from Hanoi, as there many seem to feel there is little to do in between. This is probably incorrect, but we have made it our last call of South Vietnam. It is an ancient and cultural capital of Vietnam. The place of the Emperors and their tombs. Hanoi is the current post-independence capital and Saigon the colonial capital, from where the French governed.

We started our investigation proper of Hue on 14th September, and day 164, with a visit to the Citadel. We missed out on China, and therefore the Forbidden City in Beijng. This Citadel, which housed a Vietnamese Emperor or two, was a good a substitute as possible. The cost was a hefty $3.80 per person, but inside it is quite large. Maybe a plus for us was, the place wasn't crowded at all and many a time we had one of the copious temples just to ourselves. The gardens so tranquil and the moats and lakes filled with flowers. A map of sorts, was on the ticket we purchased, but we largely just wandered. The Citadel possibly dominates the shape of Hue, or at least that side of the river. When we looked at the map in the guidebook, the organised streets and canals, looked like modern town planning, but are in fact quite old. As always I've left a few links to Hue and the Citadel in case there is interest in the history and details.

Day 165 we booked ourselves on a boat trip on The Perfume River. The wide river divides Hue between the Citadel and the part of the city where most of us stay. The day of the trip didn't start well, and the problems originated from the night before. As always a 6am alarm, means a good nights sleep is sought, but as you really need sleep, it's hard to get it. This was further frustrated as Sarah and I had an air conditioning disagreement. She was too cold and me too hot. I didn't sleep at all well, and neither did Sarah. When we woke at 6am, the rain outside was hammering down, Vietnam style. Both of us voiced wanting to cancel. Being on a boat in this rain was a further drain on enthusiasm, to the lack of sleep. The lady on reception, offered us the same trip on the bus. This may seemed better, but to be honest the boat trip was all I wanted. The tombs and temples on the way, well I've seen so many tombs, temples and old shit. We asked to postpone to tomorrow, but apparently is was going to rain all week like this. We went ahead with the trip.

On the way we allied ourselves with an incredible French guy from Bordeaux. His English was better than my French (it always is) however it wasn't the best and I really got to practise my French as we alternated our languages to be understood. I think we were happy to practise off each other. On the boat he showed us pictures of Halong Bay, the penultimate stop on our Vietnamese adventure. He got a one day tour on a boat for $100 from Hanoi to Halong Bay and back again. We first thought it too expensive, but then he showed us the pictures. It coloured our decision later and we booked a 2 days tour of Halong Bay for $105 each on a luxury boat and a luxury bungalow apartment on Halong Bay for next week. I really enjoyed Nicolae tagging along with us. Such a ladies man, and I know Sarah had a little crush. His photos on the cruise of Halong, which included a couple of girls on his bed, made me admire this fun loving, easy going solo travelling Gaul. His Gallic shrugs, every 10  minutes, gave me a little of a man crush also to be honest. I forgot to ask his email, and he is going in the opposite direction to us. Like ships in the night.

The guidebooks will say the trip along the Perfume River is a must. It really is not. Not as much as a must as The Mekong Delta for example. I'm not sure why it's called Perfume, not because of the smell. It doesn't smell bad, or smell at all. I would just assume there would be a smell, due to the name. It's just a muddy river which passes some nice countryside, but just as frequently ducks under an ugly concrete fabricated bridge. Then again, we got the trip on a gloomy and rainy day. Maybe on a bright day, a much better experience is to be had. Then again, almost everything looks good in the sun.

The itinerary of the boat trip included a Garden Palace, a temple and three tombs of Emperors. The guide gave us some facts about the Emperors have 100s of wive, and concubines. A little like Tiger Woods I suppose. Again I'm going to be lazy and guide you to the links, should you be interested in the details of visiting them. This blog may be running out of momentum, as I'm getting a little disinterested in palaces and tombs. In any case those who know me, know modern history is my passion and I will listen attentively to a guide speaking on anything from the 20th Century onwards, but the I find myself challenged to pay attention to ancient temples, but I do try honest.

The three tombs we visited at $3.80 each were the tombs of Emperors Tu Doc, Ming Mang and Khai Dinh. They were all very tranquil places to visit, and wander. Many featuring Chinese looking stilt houses over water lily covered lakes. My indifference here is a reflection of travel fatigue, and the weather on the day, and not to take anything away from the tombs. It is also nice to see what a huge ancient and traditional culture Vietnam has, and that there is so much more to it than the 10 years of war they had.

Our craft stop (and there is always one place where they stop to show you how something is made) was a conical hat and incense stick factory. I did however gratefully succumb to buying an incense stick holder in the shape of two hands pressed together. I wanted it badly and bargained the lady down from VND 350,000 to VND 250,000 (just over $10). This is also a gift to my Buddha back home, and I hope it beings me luck.

Right now we paid $6 to keep our room until 5pm. We have an overnight train to catch to Hanoi at 8pm. The weather is menacing, raining on and off. We found paying $6 preferable to killing time by diving into cafes to escape the weather. In any case we would spend the same amount in boredom keeping dry and eating noodles we didn't really want.

Our booked plans take us up until the evening of the 22nd September. We have 2 nights reserved in a hotel in Hanoi, then 2 nights on a Halong Bay trip explained earlier, then on 21st September, we have a 30 hour, yes a 30 hour bus trip from Hanoi to Vientiane in Laos. We have 24 days of Asia left, and it looks like we are making the most of it.

Days 161 to 163 - Hoi An

Fishermen near Hoi An

The town of Hoi An lives up to its hype as a town stuck in the past. Indeed in it a world UNESCO Heritage site. It's easy to see why. Our first night we walked towards the Ancient Town, and wandered through the streets lit with Chinese Lanterns. We found ourselves by the river bank and a little Taverna where we sat drinking gin and watching the peace of the boats on the water, and lit lanterns floating on the river. Very serene.

The morning after we woke up late and after a breakfast of Pho Bo, we made our way to the water again and to see what we saw yesterday in the daylight. Of course the ambience of the small Chinese looking shops lit up was different, but daylight did nothing to rob Hoi An's Ancient City of it's beauty. I want to describe Hoi An as being to Vietnam as Ubud is to Bali. The shops are overwhelmingly craft shops, art shops, photography shops. There is a big representation from tailors, but it feels like you are wondering around somewhere steeped in culture. The art I liked was the abstract paintings, symbolising the Vietnamese people in conical hats. Perfectly formed works and free from stereotype. The photography showing fishermen throwing nets in black and white, was something I felt I wanted to purchase. Instead I set out to copy it with a photo of my own (see top).

Bridges of Hi An County

We took a boat trip for an hour up the river, just Sarah and I. Past the markets, the thin tall houses and out into the brown river away from the port town. We met up with some fishermen as we were supposed to. They threw the nets for our benefit and showed off their catch.  Then one comes aboard our boat, with his net and offers me the chance to throw it, which of course I did. I wasn't very good as a fisherman and got the net stuck in the deck boards of the ship and briefly worried if I'd broken his nets and his livelihood. This was an irrational fear, we as tourists were his livelihood. He asked us for money, I gave him VND20,000, he said no VND100.000. VND20,000 was all he got.

Another evening on the town ensued, again drawn like moths to a lamp with the bridges spanning the river, covered in lanterns. This was truly a very magical town. We were staying on a less magical side, but the walk towards the centre was very short.

The last evening in Hoi An, we found ourselves taking advantage of the countless restaurants in the side streets selling beer at VND 3000 a glass. A half pint glass, but at 10p that is a bargain. Suddenly we had two smiling Germans saying hello. They were our next door neighbours in Nha Trang. Mike and Sabrina were their names and we asked them to sit and join us for a beer. With 10p a beer and Mike being German, there were copious amounts consumed. Together we talked about new Europe, holiday allowances in Germany, UK and USA. Sarah did it first, she mentioned Hitler. "Don't mention the war" the Basil Fawlty in me shouted. But we did and it was an interesting perspective from Germans, and what their grandparents went through. Apart from that we are travelling in the same direction and I hope we meet up again. We shared travel stories, and experiences. They gave me their email, and maybe we will see them in Hanoi.

Today we edged further up the coast to the city of Hue. We have had a brief explore today, and the attraction seems to be a big citadel, a forbidden palace of sorts. Tomorrow we are exploring on bikes. The more we move north, the more real Vietnam looks. This comes at a cost however. Travelling on the sleeper buses is a big discomfort. As we approach the last 12 days of our Vietnam Visa, we have to make a few jumps in distance. We have to suck it up. Vietnam will probably be the country we've explored the most. The geography of the country, being long and thin, means that south to north (or visa versa) itineraries are norm, and in land travel between to two big cities of HCMC and Hanoi, much is seen in between.